Aim & Shoot

Chapter One

Danielle Loukas was itching to go home to her faithful bed and forget this god-awful day she was having. Since it was the third Monday of the first semester of senior year of hell, excuse her, high school it was predestined to be long, tiring and downright shitty like most days are but today, oh today, just took the cake.

(Three-tiered-double-icinged-with-little-edible-doll-people-on-top kind)

It was doomed from the morning when she reached the premises just on the nick of time and had to endure a good fifteen minute lecture from the hall monitor aka man-boy Preston Kelley aka the thorn in her side since grade one when she called out his fart in front their whole class ("Preston Poo Pooed!"). Then the rest of the day went by in stifling classrooms, learning things she'd never use post the next seven months and dodging people who were trying to con her into signing up for some mind numbing event to showcase her school spirit.

News Flash: She doesn't have any.

Its quarter to four and she'd be half way home to her sanctuary right now if the counselor hadn't called her in to talk about her future. That word alone never fails to ruin Danielle's mood for the day. It baffles her how obsessed the adults are with the concept of tomorrow. Ever since you turn a certain age where you're deemed capable of forming full thoughts, you're asked what you'd want to be when you grow up. You say something like a pirate or a princess or a Cheetah Girl and they laugh at how adorable you are. They laugh and laugh until you get high school and suddenly it's not so funny anymore. Suddenly you're supposed to know exactly what you'd want to be doing the rest of your life, a realization you're to get overnight on the night you turn sixteen, keeping in mind that there are only a few right answers.

(And being a stripper is not one of them, as Danielle has been oh-so-lovingly told by her mother)

As Ms Knowles (no relation to Beyonce, they checked) went on about Danielle's future, the girl in question couldn't help but think about her past. Well, if three hours ago can even be called that. She was sitting at her lunch table with Brigitte, the foreign exchange student from France who only spoke in French even though Danielle for a fact knew that she scored top marks in English Lit last year, and Daryl, who always has his headphones on and speaks only to tell her to move from his spot near the window, just minding her own business, when she couldn't help but notice something of the highest degree of unusual.

Cedric Mathers got off from the centre table and strutted his way over to her side of the cafeteria. He looked determined and, dare she say it, thoughtful as he dodged high fives and 'sup-dawgs until he reached his destination- the table right in front of her where Parker Zane spent her lunches reading books that Danielle wouldn't dream of touching even if her English grade depended on it.

This gave Danielle and her seatmates' a bird-eye view of the hierarchy altering drama that was about to take place.

Cedric: Hi.

Parker: ...

Cedric *clears throat*: Um, Parker?

Parker looks up from the book she was reading and gives him a questioning look.

(Anna Karenina for those who were wondering)

Cedric: Hi.

Parker: Uh, hi?

Cedric: It's Cedric, Cedric Mathers. From third period English. With Mr. Martinez.

Parker*cocks up an eyebrow*: I know who you are, Cedric-Mathers-from-third-period-English-with-Mr. Martinez. We've been in the same school since fourth grade.